


Overexertion

by HeyMurphy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Computer Viruses, Crime-Solving, Gen, Sickfic, Whump, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 07:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15432402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy
Summary: While working a time-sensitive murder, Connor contracts a virus that begins to impede him in his efforts to solve the case.





	Overexertion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taylor_tut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/gifts).



> this was a prompt gifted to me by taylor_tut (taylortut @ tumblr) - thank you so much!! this was a lot of fun, and I'm just sorry it took so long haha!
> 
> "I’ve lately been thinking about Connor getting some kind of bug and feels AWFUL and Hank tells him he can take off, but someone else (Gavin? Fowler? idk) tells him he can’t leave because as long as he’s operational, he’s got a job to do. so he tries to stick it out and promises hank he’s fine but eventually he’s Very Not Fine and Hank is pissed that he got pushed so far (:"

Captain Fowler stood at the top of the steps that led into his office and spoke to the officers collected in the bullpen. “Okay, people, you all know what needs to be done. Three murders in three days, all ex-CyberLife employees, all women in their 20s, all killed around midnight. I need this solved. The mayor needs this solved. We have approximately ten hours until another murder and we’re not letting that happen.” He narrowed his eyes. “Dismissed.”

The precinct rushed and ran and buzzed. Connor and Hank stood in front of a smartglass board loaded with photographs, maps, reports, every detail of each murder thus far. A timer in the corner ticked down the hours until the next killing.

Hank dragged a few of the crime scene pictures to the forefront, scratching at his beard. “What the fuck are we missing, Connor?”

Connor stared thoughtfully at the smartglass. “The answer has to be here.” He pressed his hand to the clear surface, the skin over his fingers receding. Information burst into him like a strike of lightning, updating the files he already had, adding new developments. Security footage. Eyewitness reports. Autopsy notes. The victim’s schedules, family, friends, medical histories, the content of their computers and phones—

A strange stabbing sensation split through the center of his head. Connor pulled his hand away as if the glass were burning him and pressed his palm to his forehead, eyes pinched shut.

Hank rounded on him. “Connor? Connor! What’s wrong?”

“The first victim, Gabrielle Brighton— _nngh_ —” Connor staggered sideways into someone’s desk and caught himself on the edge. The room spun beneath his feet. Something was very wrong. “She had—there was something on her phone.”

Hank took him by the upper arms, trying to steady him. “What is it? TARU already combed through their stuff for viruses.”

“It’s not a virus. At least not in the usual sense. It was— _mnh_ —it was a voicemail she received the morning before she was killed. From a pay phone in Delray.”

“C’mon, sit down for a second, you look awful.”

Connor allowed Hank to lead him to an office chair. “I do?”

“Yeah, your skin’s kinda see-through.”

Connor peered down at the backs of his hands and saw it was true. His skin was just translucent enough to show a bit of the white plastic underneath, giving him a sickly pale appearance. He frowned. “It’s no matter. I’m fine,” he said, and he exhaled hard to let out some gathering heat. “The voicemail, to the human ear and to most equipment, would seem like simple nonsense audio. But there was data stored in the sound. Like a code.”

Hank blinked. “A code to do what?”

“A code to prevent android involvement in the case, I suspect. It’s already spreading through me at a rate I can barely determine. I need to refrain from interfacing directly with anything else or I risk exposing other androids at the station to this.” Connor raked through his hair, frustrated, and beat a fist weakly into the chair’s armrest. “Shit. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Hey, it’s okay. You couldn’t have known.” Hank put a hand to Connor’s brow. “Woah, you’re definitely running hot. Is there anything you can do to stop it?”

Connor nodded. “I’ll have to put myself into rest mode, perform a diagnostic, and then run a repair program. Unfortunately I’m estimating that it may take anywhere from five to seven hours, and we don’t have that kind of time.”

“Screw that. We need you in top shape, Connor.” Hank turned the chair towards the exit. “Go home, rest up. Come back and hit it hard, okay?”

He knew Hank was right. He needed to take care of this before it got any worse, even if it did make him feel a touch guilty to leave in the middle of an ongoing investigation. “Okay, Hank. Thank you. Only…”

“Only?”

Connor sighed, sheepish. “I might need some help up.”

 

* * *

 

The autotaxi pulled away from the precinct and Connor eased back on the headrest. His joints ached, grating against each other like rusty hinges. Even just the simple act of sitting hurt his knees, but stretching his legs out hurt even more. The sun was too bright, the air conditioning in the taxi too cold, the radio too loud. Every sense seemed set just at the edge of unbearable.

Connor didn’t carry a cell phone. He contained the necessary hardware to make and receive calls. He was six stop lights down the street when he received a call from Captain Fowler.

“Would love to know what the hell you think you’re doing, detective.”

Connor jolted to attention. “Captain!” He had walked right out of the precinct without speaking to him, something he never would have done if he’d been functioning correctly. “I apologize, I should have—”

“All hands are working this case, and that’s an order.”

“But Captain Fow—”

“An  _order_ , Connor. I’m not sure I appreciate the way Hank seems to be rubbing off on you. Get your ass back here  _now_.”

Connor winced. The volume of the audio made his vision go fuzzy. “I-I understand, sir, it’s just that I’m not—”

“NOW!”

Static erupted in his eyes until Fowler hung up the phone. He pressed the heel of his palm to his temple, rubbing gentle circles into his LED. After another moment, he leaned forward to tap at the screen and reverse his route.

Connor returned to the precinct and nearly fell to the sidewalk as he tumbled from the taxi. He struggled up the stairs and into the building, squinting at the fluorescent lights and rushing through the reception area to avoid the blare of the televisions. The bullpen was overwhelming in its chaos and sound, and right as Connor feared he might collapse there was Hank to keep him upright.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” said Hank. He brought Connor to their desks and made him sit. “I heard Jeffrey chew you out on the phone. You okay?”

Connor nodded, finding it hard to raise his head. “I can’t believe I just left without clearing it with the captain.”

“That was my fault,” said Hank. “I told you to go. I figured given the circumstances—well, I tried to plead your case after he got off the phone but he wasn’t having it.”

“It’s all right. Thank you.” Connor exhaled another hot breath. “I should continue to remain functional in some capacity for the foreseeable future. Hopefully by then we’ll have apprehended the suspect.” He lifted his gaze to the glass office in the center of the bullpen. Fowler sat inside, head buried in his hand as he talked heatedly to someone on the phone. The commissioner, perhaps. Or the mayor. Neither would be good.

“Just take things slow,” said Hank. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

Connor didn’t know how to tell Hank that he was already well past overexerted. “I’ll try not to.”

They got to work, going through files and calling up so many people it made Connor’s blood throb in his fingertips. They took the elevator down to the medical examiner’s office and went over the autopsies again, cross-checked a few suspect leads with map data, visited the TARU offices to get an update on the third victim’s phone. Connor trudged through it all as best he could, sneaking short rests when he thought no one was paying attention and turning his head away when he knew his LED must be flashing red from exertion. Only once did he falter long enough for Hank to sling an arm around him.

It was dark outside by the time they returned from TARU. Neither Detective Ben Collins nor Detective Gavin Reed had any significant leads. Captain Fowler was beside himself and was currently arguing quite animatedly with Gavin in his office.

Connor stood in front of the smartglass board again. He moved pieces around, trying to make a connection. It was proving difficult to focus on the information manually. His thoughts kept straying and his head felt heavy. His arms were sluggish, hands trembling. He wished he could interface with the entire DPD system. The answer had to be there, hidden in the evidence they’d already gathered, he just needed to made sense of it.

The timer in the corner of the board continued to tick. Less than four hours. Preventing the fourth murder seemed an unattainable goal.

Gavin stormed out of Fowler’s office and right into Connor’s face, shoving a finger into his chest so hard Connor feared it might break. “You fucking stupid machine! You’re just staring off into space!” Angry spit flew from Gavin’s mouth. “What are you _doing_?! I just spent the last three hours chasing down a shitty lead that went nowhere, so do your goddamn fucking job or I’m gonna rip that fucking pump outta your chest!”

Hank pulled Gavin back by the hood of his jacket. “Leave him alone, Gavin! He’s got some kinda computer virus.”

This made Gavin even angrier if such a thing were possible. “So fucking FIX it!”he screamed, and he knocked into Connor’s shoulder as he stormed off to the break room, almost throwing him off balance.

Connor flinched and touched where Gavin had poked him. The virus might not have been his fault, but if he allowed it to slow his solving of these cases, the next murder certainly would be. He closed his eyes for a moment and approached the glassboard again. 

“Hank,” he said, “can you please have someone send out an alert to the other androids working here at the precinct? They shouldn’t interface with any computer in the building until TARU debugs everything.”

Hank frowned. “What are you about to do?”

“I need to get into the whole DPD system. I need to catch this fucking murderer.”

Hank squeezed Connor’s shoulder. “All right. But you be careful.”

Waiting until he was out of sight, Connor pressed both hands to the glassboard and leaned his weight on it a bit. He didn’t feel tired in the same way that humans did, but even so, he was exhausted. His biocomponents had been whirring hard for hours to keep him going. His processor was overclocked. Heat pulsed through him in awful, uncomfortable waves. He just wanted to shut everything off, shut the world out, and spend the rest of the night in rest mode on Hank’s sofa.

He concentrated and drew back the skin on his hands. This probably wasn’t a good idea but it was the only chance they had. He tightened his jaw and jumped into the interface.

All at once— _pain_. There was no other way to describe it. Every circuit in his body burned white-hot with the onslaught of information. He couldn’t keep up. Too fast—too fast— _too fast_ —

And then it was over and he realized he was on the floor. Hank knelt over him, his broad form blocking the ceiling lights. The biocomponent connections behind his eyes vibrated as if they were loose and the thirium-based lubricant in his mouth felt thick and sticky. “Hhh—” His speech program booted back up file by file. “Hhha—”

“Connor, Jesus Christ. I told you to be careful.”

“Hhhank, I—”

“Your light’s solid red. Just relax.”

Connor tried to move. His fingers curled. He could bend his knees to fifty-six degrees, but anything more than that pinched the joints and caused them to seize up. “T-Time—the time—” Trying to focus on just one thought proved almost impossible. “What— _time_ —is it? ”

“You’re fine. You were only out for maybe a minute or two.” A proud smile spread across Hank’s beardy face. “Ben just left to go pick up the guy. You might’ve just saved the day here, Connor.”

“The—guy? What guy?”

A deeper voice sounded from somewhere behind him. “You mentioned a man named Thomas Spalding before you passed out.” It was Captain Fowler. “He had a connection to CyberLife’s IT department.”

Hank slipped a hand under Connor’s neck and gingerly lifted his head off the floor. Connor groaned at the cool contact on his overheated frame. He couldn’t remember anything about a Thomas Spalding. He couldn’t remember anything about the case either. He’d probably damaged his recent memory storage in some capacity. A laundry list of errors scrolled in his vision but he paid them no mind.

“He’s all fucked up,” Hank said to Fowler, accusation and anger brimming in his voice. “If you’d just let him leave earlier, he wouldn’t—”

“He wouldn’t have saved a woman’s life tonight,” Fowler snapped. “I made the correct call and you know it.”

Hank growled but said nothing. Connor felt the man’s thumb brushing protectively behind his ear. It soothed away some of the static in his thoughts.

Fowler sighed and turned towards his office. “Take him home. I’ll see you both back here tomorrow morning.”

Connor made a noise of discomfort as Hank eased him into a more seated position. “Everything feels— _nhg_ —very bad. I don’t—like this.”

A low laugh grumbled in Hank’s chest. “I know. Don’t worry. I’ll get you to the car and you can do your sleep mode thing, okay?”

The last of Connor’s processing power was ebbing away, draining him entirely. It took too much effort to remain conscious in his current state. “Hank, I-I think—I have to—r-right now.”

Hank’s eyes widened and then warmed with understanding. “Sure, Connor, I got you. Sleep well. You deserve it, hero.”

Connor tried to smile. He hoped his lips were responding properly. He felt his rest mode program activate automatically to protect him from further internal damage. Darkness poured in around the edges of his sight, darkening Hank’s gentle face, and then, blissfully, all external input ceased.

 

* * *

 

Connor woke up on Hank’s sofa. According to his internal clock he’d been out for just over ten hours, much longer than his initial estimation. He stretched his legs and arms, thankful the joints no longer locked or ached. The morning sun through the blinds didn’t hurt his eyes.

He felt  _good_.

He could see Hank at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone, eating a bowl of sugary cereal, still unaware that Connor had roused.

This was everything he had wanted last night. To simply be here, in this place, with Hank.

Connor smiled into the fabric of the throw pillows. Maybe he could sneak another hour of sleep before Hank was ready to leave for work…

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to try writing some other short prompts too! find me over on tumblr @moselybot - thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Map of the Problematique](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15983252) by [Morbus Aegraque Scribo (TheDarkFlygon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkFlygon/pseuds/Morbus%20Aegraque%20Scribo)




End file.
